


Getting Better At Human Emotion

by chugster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chugster/pseuds/chugster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode coda for 9.09, the mid-season finale. Dean deals with the events of the episode and ends up praying for Castiel. Castiel does what he can to comfort Dean in his grief. Dean is surprised by the angel's method of choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Better At Human Emotion

**Author's Note:**

> This is an episode coda for season 9 episode 9. Set directly after the episode, so contains major spoilers for that episode. 
> 
> No warnings (other than for what happened in the show).
> 
> Disclaimer: not mine, not making profit. Obviously.

After Sam’s gone the bunker rings with silence, the air itself transformed into something thick, almost suffocating. Kevin’s burnt-out eyes are a knife to the gut every single time Dean looks his way, so he does his best not to. Along with the overwhelming guilt a slow numbness spreads over him and he needs to move, to get up off the floor, to do _something_. He needs to bury Kevin.

Dean puts him to the ground that same afternoon, finds a nice place for him at the edge of a little clearing in the forest above their bunker. Dean makes it his penance to cut no corners, shovels six feet down though the tightly packed soil full of roots and rocks. The sun is long gone before all the stones from deep in the ground are gathered into a neat pile, to mark the grave of a prophet.

A scorching shower and a change of clothes later Dean’s ready to hit the bed or the bottle of Jack he keeps unopened in his room for emergencies. He contemplates his options, changes his mind twice and eventually chooses a third option. He stands in the middle of his bedroom, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and gets as far as _“Cas? It’s me, Dean. Can you-“_ before he feels the angel in the room. Dean doesn’t have the time to move or even open his eyes before there’s a hand on this arm, “ _Dean, what happened?”_ on Castiel’s lips, or in Dean’s mind, he’s not sure, not without seeing the angel for himself. As he opens his eyes he finds Castiel not as close as he’d expected but hovering an arms-length away, face pinched and clothes bloody.

Looking at the sorry state of Castiel’s clothes hammers home the fact that Castiel’s already had his own share of awful today, and that Dean’s managed to forget all about it. This sends another wave of guilt-flavored misery flooding in.

“Cas, I…” Dean says, plucking at the torn remains of a shirt, feeling for wounds that are no longer there. “You look like shit. Are you okay?”

“Healed,” Castiel says dismissively. It’s not as simple as that, it never is, but at least Castiel’s fine for now. At least Dean didn’t lose him too. Dean drops his hands from Castiel’s chest. “Dean, what’s wrong? Your prayer sounded… urgent.” The small hesitation makes Dean suspect ‘urgent’ is a polite way of putting it.

Which means that Castiel is trying to be nice, here, which in turn means he is worried, and Castiel is very rarely truly worried. Apparently now is one of those occasions. Castiel’s looking at Dean like he’s tempted to shake the answer out of him, gripping his arm a little too tight in his frustration.

But it’s as if putting the day into words would give it its final shape, would make it into something real and tangible, something sharper and more painful. It’s difficult to find the will to do that. For a few crazy seconds Dean wishes he could stay silent instead.

“Sam’s gone.” He begins, a small part of him breaking a little. Castiel opens his mouth to speak but Dean solders on, needing to get it all out at once. “And Kevin… He’s dead, Cas. The angel inside Sam killed him.” He looks Castiel in the eye and forces out the rest of it. “I watched his soul burn in front of me and there was nothing I could do. I buried him just now.” Castiel’s hand on his arm loosens its painful grip but doesn’t let go, the weight of it soothing Dean’s hurt.

“Dean-”

“I fucked up, Cas.” Dean interrupts, his voice sounding rough to his ears. “With Sam, I mean. It was my fault.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Castiel says, with such conviction that Dean wants to laugh, wants to throw his belief back at his face, because what does he know? Nothing, that’s what.

Dean crosses his hands and tries to stare the angel down. “You don’t know what happened to him,” he says, knowing full well he’s the one to blame for that, too. “Jesus, Cas. How can you- You have no idea what I did.”

Castiel levels Dean with a look that’s nearly frightening in its intensity. “You forget that I’ve seen your soul, Dean. I don’t know what happened, but I know _you_. Your bad decisions always have good intentions. You’ll say it’s not good enough, that the end result is all that matters, but you’re wrong. You are a good man, Dean, and you did what you thought was right. You always do.” Castiel’s complete inability to lie convincingly makes his sincerity now all the more obvious.

A passing thought unfrowning the angel’s brows is all the warning Dean gets before Castiel steps into his personal space, wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and leans in for a hug. For the first few moments Dean just stands there, stunned, a shocked expression forgotten on his face.

“We’ll find a way to get him back, Dean,” Castiel says. There are two things that fight for Dean’s attention then, and only one of them involves the formerly emotionally crippled angel’s suddenly blossoming hugging tendencies. Unfortunately for Castiel, empty platitudes and false hope have always made Dean want to punch someone. He tries to break free of said angel’s embrace to look him in the eye, but with little success. Castiel doesn’t even seem to be aware of his struggles let alone Dean’s anger at him.

“Don’t you dare tell me it’ll all be okay, Cas,” Dean lashes out. “You of all people should know that happy endings belong in the Disney versions of fairy tales. It’s more brothers Grimm here in the real world.”

Castiel’s calm is infuriating. He refuses to be pulled into an argument, offering no easy answers where there are none. “You’re not listening to me,” he says instead. “I said I’ll help you find your brother, not that he’ll be perfectly fine once we do. Most likely he won’t be.” Castiel pats Dean’s back gently, as if offering a wordless apology for that last sentence. By now Dean’s half-convinced Castiel’s lifted the gesture from something he’s seen on TV. Despite their continuing issues with personal space, Dean’s fairly sure Castiel has never voluntarily hugged him before, let alone _held_ him like this.

Seconds tic by and Castiel doesn’t seem in a hurry to move so Dean decides to plays along, knowing it will get both of them out of the situation with minimal embarrassment. He places his hands on the angel’s sodden trench coat, gathers him close and relaxes into the hug. As soon Dean’s done this, he’s surrounded by the same comfort and warmth he felt when Castiel was simply holding his arm. TV-influence or no, Dean decides to hold on and enjoy it while it lasts.

It doesn’t take long for the hug to run its course, though.

“So what’s with the cuddle attacks?” Dean can’t help himself asking.

“Being human showed me the value of physical contact in human interaction. This makes you feel better, yes?”

“It’s not bad. Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

“We can stop now, though,” Dean says, seeing the oncoming awkwardness in their horizon.

“Okay,” Castiel agrees and releases Dean. “I’m afraid I’ve not yet mastered the length of the hug. It varies much with different people, and it gets too long so fast.”

Dean can only stare in amused disbelief, the thought of Castiel experimenting with hugging length oddly endearing. “You don’t say.”

A few moments pass in companionable silence.

“I’m sorry about Kevin,” Castiel says quietly. “He was a prophet of the Lord and a good friend to you and Sam. I’ll be listening in on the angels in case they discuss your brother or if there’s any word of a new prophet arising. It would be on the prophet’s best interest if we were the first to find them.”

“Yeah, good. The angel who has Sam has the Angel and the Demon tablets too so best to keep an ear out for those as well. I’ll check with Crowley if he knows anything that would help us, although the bastard will probably be uncooperative as usual.” Dean shifts on his feet as exhaustion crashes over him. “But not until tomorrow. I’m sure you remember we mere mortals need our time unconscious every day.”

Dean walks over to his bed and falls on it like a sack of bricks. “Whoever came up with that little detail while brainstorming for the human condition must be really proud of themselves.” He turns and kicks the covers aside, then pulls on them until he’s more or less comfortably sprawled under them.

“Yes, I remember. Sleeping was… inconvenient. I will not miss it.” Castiel turns to catch Dean’s eye and says, “I’ll try to find out who did this to Sam and Kevin while you sleep. Hopefully I’ll have some answers by the time you wake.” It sounds like he’s leaving. Dean needs something from him first.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“You couldn’t possibly-”

“I can watch over you while you sleep, if you want me to,” Castiel offers. Dean remembers a time when the well-meaning words had sounded alarmingly creepy to him. This time he feels only fond amusement for the angel and smiles tiredly as he mashes his face further into the pillow.

“Dude, no. I was thinking more in the lines of you giving me a jumpstart on sleep. Can you help me out?”

“Ah. Of course.” Castiel makes his way over to Dean’s bed and sits down on the edge of it. He reaches for Dean’s forehead and Dean closes his eyes.

“Wake me up in four hours,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel says and watches Dean fall asleep under his touch. The urge is there to stay, to make sure Dean is safe, but Castiel pushes it firmly back. With one final parting look he stands, spreads his wings wide and takes off. Out there is an angel that hurt his Dean to the core, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make it better. The sorry excuse of an angel wouldn’t even know what hit him.

_End._


End file.
